


You Swore You Were Mine

by musiclily88



Series: Wasted Youth// There Wasn't Much to Waste [22]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Child Abuse, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Hospitals, M/M, Medical, Physical Abuse, SO MUCH ANGST UGH, Teen Angst, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:21:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He demanded that they let him ride along to the A&E.</p>
<p>They let him hold Liam’s hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Swore You Were Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger from the last section. Hope this makes up for it, loves!
> 
> I adore comments, criticism, and all conversation <3

Liam leaned against the doorframe, labouring for breath.

“Harry, call the police, please!” Louis yelled, eyes trained on Liam. He stepped forward, unsure how to support Liam without further injuring him. He settled his hands along Liam’s hips, shunting him sideways gently.

“Holy shit,” Harry breathed from the stairs, wide-eyed. He fumbled one huge hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually, Harry,” Liam added, wincing as his lip bled onto his teeth.

“Christ, Haz, how tight do your trousers actually need to be, hurry up. Please,” Louis begged, placing a hand carefully on the back of Liam’s neck. “Hey, look at me. Do you have a concussion? What hurts?”

“Ribs. Eye. Face. Hand.” He held one hand aloft, showing the scuffed, bleeding knuckles. Louis heard Harry muttering into his mobile as he gave Liam another up-and-down glance.

“Can you sit? Bottom step. I’m gonna—ice, and a flannel. Keep your eyes open, okay? Pay attention to what Harry’s doing, he might have questions for you. The medics might have questions for you.”

 

Louis, having no idea what he was doing, was only certain that he was going to cause even more hurt and pain, hurried to the kitchen. Spinning madly, he yanked open the freezer to grab a misshapen icepack, pulling open a drawer in the next step. He turned on the faucet with one elbow and stuck a flannel beneath the spray, worry settling _heavy and cold_ into his chest.

Hurrying back into the foyer, his breath caught at the scene before him. Harry was kneeling in between Liam’s splayed legs, one hand pressed against Liam’s knee and one settled deeply in Liam’s hair.

Louis watched slack-jawed as Harry pressed gentle-light kisses onto Liam’s blemished cheek and nose, against his stubbled jaw and rounded shoulder.

Louis wanted—a lot. He wanted to break them apart, to cause hurt, to bare his teeth and make them back down. He also wanted to watch them forever, watch them provide comfort to one another in a way he knew he would never be able to.

He was strangely hungry for the affection they were showing one another, selfish even in this moment. He wanted to matter to them more than they mattered to one another.

Instead of interrupting overtly, he silently shuffled forward and pressed the warm flannel against Liam’s cheek, catching the pooling blood from his split lip.

Harry continued press his hand into Liam’s thigh but he removed his other from Liam’s hair, retreating gently. “You’re okay, babe,” he whispered, thumbing along the seams of Liam’s jeans. “You’re amazing.”

Louis’ chest clenched at that and he tapped it down, pressing the icepack into Liam’s hand. “Here. Haz, what’d they say?”

“Ten mo away. Seems maybe no internal bleeding but can’t be sure. He’s all right for now, yeah?” Harry placed his hand onto the compress, tipping it against Liam’s split lip. “He’s being so good. Breathe, Liam, you’re great. Good job, babe.” Harry swung his head to look at Louis. “They said keep him calm and assess his wounds. They’re close by. Aren’t they, babe, they’re close by. You’re good. Keep breathing, let me know how your ribs feel. Are they tight?”

“No,” Liam groaned. “Just a bit pinchy.”

“Okay, great, babe, that’s great. Breathe for me,” Harry drawled, planting a slow kiss on Liam’s sweaty forehead.

Louis, at a loss, knelt down to press the guide Liam’s hand, which still held the icepack, to his ribs. “Just set this here for now,” he murmured, trying to imitate Harry’s soothing tones. He set the ice against Liam’s body.

Louis sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself and setting his jaw. He told himself not to be horrible, not to be a brat, not to be selfish. While he wanted to duck away and hide, he also wanted to help Liam and Harry—he wanted to invisibly give them strength and sneak away.

He stayed silent, listening to Harry murmur _pretty-darling-sweet_ things to the wounded Liam, swallowing down the acid in his gut.

Louis stayed silent until the paramedics arrive at his house. He let them in with a strange solemnity, whispering as they asked about Liam’s vitals.

He demanded that they let him ride along to the A&E.

They let him hold Liam’s hand.

***

Louis tucked himself up into a chair no matter the room they wheeled Liam into, lips thin and eyes wide. He watched silently as Liam was administered pain medication, then panicked when two uniformed police officers arrived to take Liam’s statement.

He periodically hovered near Liam’s face, fists shoved into his pockets and jaw tight. Answering a few questions angrily—sarcastically—he was soon asked to move away from Liam and get himself a cup of water.

“No thank you. I’d really prefer if someone tell me why his father was in prison a few days ago and yet was still somehow able to beat him to a fucking pulp today. Thoughts?”

“Lou,” Liam breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “He got—”

“Did he get released from prison? Are we not going to talk about how useless non-molestation orders are? Or how fuckholes who abuse their kids should really be put away for life, rather than just a few months?”

“Lou,” Liam pleaded again, gone breathless. “Just give it a minute.”

Louis clamped his jaw shut tightly, glaring at the officers in Liam’s room. “He could have died,” he added quietly, flicking his eyes to the floor. “Yeah? You get that?”

“We get that,” the female officer replied in kind, returning his serious look with one of her own. “We do. But we need to get a statement from about what happened. It’s the law.”

So Louis stood still and listened to Liam recount the _absurd_ story, heard him croak that his father had simply sauntered into the garage where Liam fucking _worked_ and screamed with poisonous rage. He listened to Liam’s crackling voice, listened to him admit that his own father had punched and kicked and _broken him._ He listened to Liam confess that he had grappled out, grabbing a discarded spanner from the floor of the garage.

“It was—a split-second, that’s all the time I had to make a decision, and he just kept punching me, all over, and I heard things cracking. There was blood in my eyes and I could barely tell what was going on, I just reacted. I just hit him with the spanner and kept hitting, just to make him stop hurting me. It worked, a bit, he backed up but he kept trying to get at me. I just kept, that is, I didn’t—”

“Do we need to get him a lawyer?” Louis interrupted, stopping Liam’s sentence short, noting the bright-wet look in Liam’s eyes.

“No. Mr. Payne’s not pressing charges.”

“You mean—he’s still alive?” Liam breathed, air hitching in his throat.

Louis’ mouth went dry and sticky. “Did—you thought he—I.”

“He’s still alive. Yes. And he refuses to press charges whatsoever.”

“Good for him,” Louis snapped, rolling his eyes.

“He’s alive,” Liam repeated, eyelids fluttering shut from his prone position on the hospital bed.

Louis was simultaneously upset and mollified at this news. Though he dearly wished Liam’s father every ill imaginable, the thought of Liam actually killing someone sent him shivering. He clamped down on the shudders that rolled through his spine and fish-mouthed silently. “Are you going to press charges, Liam?” he asked quietly.

“Is that an option?” Liam muttered, nostrils flaring.

“Yes. It is. Especially because you already have a non-molestation order against him, which he clearly violated.”

“And he would have you go back to prison?” Liam asked, eyebrows raising high on his forehead.

“For real this time?” Louis muttered, breath gone shallow.

_Liam could have died, Liam nearly killed someone, Liam’s ribs might be broken again._ Everything was going wrong and nothing made a bit of sense. This was supposed to have been taken care of long ago. This was supposed to be one thing that could no longer give Louis a panic attack—and he forgot precisely when he realized that he had started caring. He was so beyond caring, so deeply ingrained into _fond holy shit you’re not allowed to die but you should probably stay away from me for your own damn good_ that he had forgotten there were other people in the world who wished Liam ill.

A warming anger set into Louis’ stomach, churning its way up his gut and into his chest. It was all he could do not to scream with the impotent rage that moldered inside him—all he could do not to do punching and kicking of his own.

He took a deep breath that did nothing to calm him, realization deep in his core that he would honestly and willingly do anything on earth to keep Liam safe, all the while knowing that it was absolutely and utterly beyond his capacity to do so.

Impotent rage, then, was his guiding characteristic and perhaps—perhaps—his guiding light.

***  
Louis propped himself up in the corner of Liam’s hospital room, thumbing out text messages to Zayn and Harry and Niall while he waited for Liam’s older sister to show up. Liam had been unable to locate his mother, which sent him into such a panic that he had to be sedated.

Louis sent a grim glance at the prone Liam, whose head was tipped back, his mouth open and drooling onto his starched hospital pillow. Louis sighed and shifted in his seat, moving to cross his legs beneath him on the chair. He picked absently at the scuffed hem of his jeans, trying not to bite the inside of his cheek bloody and raw. He lost track of time as he stared out the window, stared at the linoleum floor, stared at his own bitten cuticles.

The walls loomed around him, imposing, beige and very, very suffocating.

He had no idea what to do with himself when he wasn’t allowed to be loud.

 

He shoved one hand into his pocket and fished out a pill, the hungry, impotent anger rumbling low inside his empty stomach.

As the pill took effect—too slowly for Louis’ own liking, as always—he felt as though a gentle course of cold water was trickling its way down his back, felt his panic tamp down slightly. He wished that pills could solve all his problems, rather than causing some whilst fixing others.

Louis wondered absently how many people had died in the very room he was sitting in. The pill having taken effect, this thought merely made him feel slightly hollow rather than fidgety and hell-bent. 

He did not respond well to boredom or anger or anxiety, he knew. What was unexpected was that he would also not respond well to meeting Liam’s older sister Ruth.

He surged to his feet, rage slightly subdued but still simmering right below the seeming equanimity his medication provided. 

Thoughts coursed wildly thoughts his cotton-filled mind, thoughts like _you’re an adult already, you knew what was happening_ thoughts like _where were you, why didn’t you take care of him, why didn’t you get him out?_ and thoughts like _I blame you, let me blame you._

“Louis?” she asked before he could say anything.

“Yeah,” he responded gruffly, shuffling from foot to foot rather than pummel her or rush from the room.

Instead he looked at her with his hands balled into fists. Her one eye dropped slightly more than the other, and he caught sight of a jagged scar on her neck, half-hidden beneath her ash-blonde ponytail. She was not particularly tall, but her shoulders slumped in a way that made her look shorter—certainly shorter than Louis himself. She looked small.

“Yeah, I’m Louis. Ruth?” He blinked, feeling stupid.

“Yah, um, how’s, how’s he doing?” She stood awkwardly beside Liam’s bed, fidgeting with her hands.

“He’s—like, sedated right now, because he got really agitated that he couldn’t get ahold of your guys’ mum. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ruth said, nodding slowly. “You don’t—need to apologize.”

“Sure I do,” Louis said with instantaneous conviction. “Of course I do.”

“Nah.” She shook her head madly, hair swinging back and forth. “Not at all. You’re his friend. It’s fine.”

“Boyfriend,” Louis snapped, despite himself. “Ex-boyfriend. I dunno. He’s my—yeah.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “That—okay, that happened. He—that is. So you’re actually out, then.”

“Yeah,” Louis drawled. “As much as I can be, or whatever.”

“Liam wasn’t.”

“At all?”

“I suspected. I—more than suspected. Well, I knew. But no. Not really.” She pursed her lips. “Did he—with our, that is—”

“Your dad knew, yeah. Caused a whole mess of trouble, as you can see.”

“Oh my god.” She scrubbed a hand through the end of her ponytail, eyes fluttering shut. “I need—to find his doctors. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

“I’ll be here.” Louis watched her backtrack from the doorway, and he sat down slowly, checking to see if Liam had woken up. He was still inhaling and exhaling softly, his dark lashes looking like smudges against his cheekbones.

***  
Liam’s ribs weren’t broken, merely bruised down deep to the bone. His doctors insisted he stay overnight for them to keep an eye on his internal injuries, along with assessing how much blood he had swallowed during his nosebleed. His face, they said, would heal slowly but without lingering damage.

Ruth cried when the doctors repeated the news to Liam when he awoke, clutching his hand and ignoring Louis entirely.

Louis, for his part, glared at everyone who entered the room, including Zayn, Harry, and Niall.

Harry arrived first, clearly having followed shortly after the ambulance left Louis’ house. He immediately curled up into Liam’s side, crawling onto the bed with wet eyes. Liam, Louis, and Ruth stared at him—Louis the only one of them used to his casual violation of boundaries, his comfort with immediate intimacy.

He tucked his face into Liam’s shoulder carefully. “Tell me if I’m hurting you. Otherwise I’m staying put.”

“You-you’re good,” Liam replied softly, moving his arm to accommodate Harry’s lanky body. “Ruth, this is Harry. Harry, this is my sister.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, blinking at her languidly.

“You as well. Are you always this friendly?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Hospitals are frightening. Thought our boy could do with a cuddle.”

“Our boy?” Louis raised his eyebrows.

“Transitive property. You belong to each other, I’ve got you, therefore he belongs to me. Though he currently belongs to half the bloody country through you, Lou.”

“Just the male half,” Louis promised with a smirk at Liam.

“Hey, I was working at a steady clip before you came along, I’ll have you know.” Liam’s eyelids fluttered closed, but his lips perked up at the corners.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me. You’re quite popular with the rugby team, Mr. Perpetually Humble.”

“I’m not sure I need to be hearing this conversation,” Ruth said slowly.

“Sorry, sis. Guess I shoulda told you.”

She shrugged. “Guess we shoulda done a lot of things.”

Liam shuffled upright awkwardly, jostling against Harry. “I couldn’t get ahold of mum. Ruth, is she okay? Where is she?”

“She’s fine, love, she’s on her way.”

“Where was she?” he asked in a small voice. Louis caught his eye, gave him an encouraging smile to scare away the small, childlike look on his face.

“She was—do you not want to have this conversation in private?”

“No.”

 

“She was with her lawyer. Our lawyer. To determine what to do from here on out.”

“She—fuck, she knew he was getting out? Is that what you’re saying?”

“She was working on it.”

“And she didn’t tell me.”

“She didn’t know the set time or anything, but she’d heard that he was—getting less time for good behaviour, and overcrowding. And everything.”

“Good behaviour?” Louis scoffed. “Genuinely?”

“He always did put on a good face,” Liam responded, shooting Louis a glance. “It’s not your problem, Louis.”

He was shocked at the sound of his own name on Liam’s lips. “I know that.”

“It’s not like you owe me.”

“I don’t care, though. It’s not about whether I owe you or anything. I’m just here and I’m not leaving, and it’s—that’s that.”

“Whatever.” Liam turned to his sister. “I don’t want to see her today. Not today. Not—right now,” he said wearily, shutting his eyes tight.

“Liam,” she replied, “you _live_ with her.”

“Yeah. And she can see me when I get released into her care. Not before.”

“Do you want to see Nic when she comes? She was at work, she had to get someone to cover for her, she’s running a bit late.”

“Glad to know I’m such a fucking priority for all you. Touching, that is,” he snapped, eyelids flying open.

“You _are,_ Liam, I swear it.”

‘Whatever. I’m tired.” He dropped his head back. “So bloody tired of _all_ of it. You all just— _left_ me behind.”

“Liam,” Louis whispered, shivers running down his back.

Ruth gaped. “It wasn’t _like_ that, I had to pick up my own pieces too, I was in no place to raise a _kid._ I could barely hold down a _job_ right away, in the beginning. I didn’t mean to leave you—if that’s what it felt like.”

“Because that’s what it _was._ I didn’t—mind taking the brunt of it when it was all of us together, like, I get that, I can be a man about that, but there was _nothing_ anything. It fucking _broke_ me—he _wrecked_ me after you left.”

Ruth began crying silently, hands clenched together.

“I thought I’d finally killed him, this time. I wanted to’ve. Beat his head in with a spanner and left him for dead. Would’ve been a relief.”

She choked our a sob.

“It’s no one’s fault but his, Liam,” Harry said quietly. “I know you’re hurt—fucking seething—but it’s _his_ fault he hurt you.”

“There was no good way out, Liam. I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it for you, sorry I left like that. I though I—I don’t know. I’m sorry.” She inhaled a shuddery breath. “But don’t blame mum.”

“I blame everyone.”

“Blame him,” Harry suggested.

“I do. But I still don’t want to see mum til tomorrow. Tell her not to come right now.”

Ruth stood and shuffled her feet. “I’ll just go make a phone call then.” With that, she left the room, sending it into a pall-filled silence. Only the sound of Liam’s soft sniffles broke the quiet.

After a short time, Zayn rushed in, nearly colliding with Harry in his hurry to get to Liam. He peppered kisses all over Liam’s face—forehead, cheekbones, nose, jaw, lips, eyebrow, and hairline—before growling, “I’ll fucking kill him.”

“We’ve already been through that,” Louis said quietly.

“I already _tried_ to kill him. At this rate, he’ll outlive all of us, the bastard. Just him and a bunch of cockroaches after the apocalypse.” Liam huffed out a breath.

Zayn sat down near Liam’s feet. “I saw Ruth on my way up here.”

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Any hot nurses to ogle at, then?” Harry asked lightly, still lying next to Liam.

“Scrubs hardly flatter one’s bum, really,” Louis said.

“There’s more than just bums to appreciate,” Liam responded, shutting his eyes.

“This is hardly respecting the solemnity of the occasion,” Zayn added, running a hand through his dark hair.

“It’s not a funeral. We’re just in hospital.” Liam nestled into Harry’s embrace—whether seeking comfort or heat or simple physical affection, Louis didn’t know.

“How are you feeling?” Zayn pressed, making Louis roll his eyes.

“I feel like someone took a cricket bat to my soft bits, all right? Just glad he wasn’t wearing steel-toed boots when he was kicking my ribs or they’d definitely have broken again. Can we change the subject, please?” Liam snapped, curling his face tighter into Harry’s shoulder

Louis swiveled his gaze across the three of them, jealousy momentarily flaring hot in his gut. Harry, for all he looked like a lost member of The 1975, seemed perfectly content to give Liam the love and affection he truly seemed to need. If his ripped black jeans clashed with the hospital setting and the pastel décor, he showed no discomfort about it.

Zayn looked like he had come straight from a coke binge, strung-out and shaky. His eyes were red, and he repeatedly tucked his thin wrists into the cuffs of his leather jacket. His face read devastation. 

It made Louis uneasy.

Liam at least looked like he fit in, his shoulders curving beneath the faded fabric of the hospital gown tied across his back. Even bruised and angry, he looked strong. Louis wondered what it would be like to feel strong, to feel capable.

And what was he, exactly, but a desperate hanger-on? Why had Liam run to _him?_

***  
Louis felt even more out of place when Niall visited, all bright smiles and cheerful, off-colour jokes. He brought Liam crisps and a fleece blanket covered in Batman symbols—because apparently that was a thing real people actually did. Louis suspected it might be a blanket from the kids section, but Liam seemed to appreciate it.

Louis left the room under the pretense of getting coffee for everyone, really needing a moment wherein he didn’t feel like he was dying.

Ruth was sitting near the closest coffee machine, nursing a paper cup. He sat down beside her and bumped his shoulder against hers, startling her. “What’d she say?” he murmured, eyes on his shoes rather than her.

“Haven’t worked up the nerve to call her yet. Just been drinking really weak tea and trying not to cry.”

“Go ahead and cry. Hospitals see plenty of crying.”

“He was in and out of hospital enough as a kid, with all his kidney stuff. He doesn’t need to be back here.”

“He kinda does, though. They know what they’re doing better than, like, me trying to patch him up at my house.”

“No, I mean—like, mentally. It’s not fair.”

“None of it’s fair. Child abuse isn’t really a kind of thing that plays fair.”

She shrugged, sniffling. “He never got the chance to even be a kid. First he was sick all the time, and then he got it in his head that he needed to protect me and Nic from our dad, which of course didn’t work. Because, you know.”

“Because abuse isn’t fair. Yeah. I know.”

“And he was just, like, a boy, you know? But then he grew into a man all of a sudden, and he was boxing and running and he got huge. I thought he would be okay, after everything. He has the most chance of being okay, I thought.”

“He will be.” This, Louis knew without one doubt.

“Like. The trial and prison—it all seemed so finite and closed, like we could move on and never have to think about it again. But nothing’s working out that way at all.”

“Do you think it’s going to now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if he presses charges again, someone will—take it seriously. Like I should have.”

“Hey, hey. He’s okay, yeah? He’s going to be absolutely fine.”

“He could have _died_ though. He could have died and his last moments would have been spent knowing that the man who’s supposed to love and protect him actually wants him to get hurt. Wants him dead or whatever—at least doesn’t care if he’s alive. And that’s horrible. He’s just a kid.”

“Yeah. I know.” Louis shrugged. “You can’t make it go away or change what’s already occurred, you know? You just have to do the things you can do and try your best to make it worth a damn.”

“He blames me. Hell, I blame myself too.”

“Your dad got out of prison and attacked Liam at work. There’s no part of that scenario that you could have protected him from. You’re not the cops, and you didn’t let your dad out. You wouldn’t have. It’s not your fault. None of you deserved any of that. It’s a shit thing, and blaming yourself is only going to make it worse.”

His chest hurt, and he wondered if he was being merciful or cruel.

“Can I buy you another cup of terrible tea? Or coffee?” Louis asked in order to break the silence.

“No. Thanks, though. I appreciate it. I should probably make this phone call.” She crushed the paper cup into a ball and stood, giving Louis a thin-lipped smile. “Be back in a bit.”

He nodded as she walked away. He bought two cups of extremely bitter coffee, grimacing at the acidic scent as he walked back to Liam’s room.

He saw a middle-aged woman standing by the bed. She wore a dark blazer over a matching skirt and her hair was pulled back into a low bun. She with a soft seriousness to her tone. He bit his lip as he entered the room, noting that Niall, Zayn, and Harry had vacated at some point.

“Coffee?” he asked, setting it on the table beside the bed.

“Thanks, Lou. This is—um, what was your name? Sorry.”

“Thea Collins.” She held out a hand for Louis to shake.

“I’m Louis.” He shook her hand. “Um, do you want coffee?”

“No thanks. I appreciate the offer.”

“Thea works for a children’s advocacy group. She was just—advocating, I guess.”

“Offering our services to you, really. We have a staff of social workers, counsellors, and psychologists, and they all have training and experience that could really benefit you, Liam, if you decide you’d like to meet with us. It’s absolutely up to you.”

“Ah.”

“Would you like me to leave some literature with you? To help you make an informed decision on the matter?”

Liam shrugged, picking up the coffee Louis had set down. “Sure, if you like.”

“I’ll leave my card and contact information as well, if you do feel that you want to meet with someone. We can talk about it whenever you’d like, okay?” She set down a stack of papers on the table beside Liam, a business card clipped to the top.

She shook his and Louis’ hands before she left, nodding once in the doorway.

“What you thinking about that, then?” Louis asked, retreating to the chair by the window in order to tuck himself away.

“M’not a child,” Liam retorted sharply

“That’s—yeah, I know you’re not. It’s not just for kids, I don’t think.”

“I don’t like talking about this kind of shit. Who would _want_ to talk about it?”

“It’s—it’s okay to let someone look after you for once. Rather than the other way around.”

“Yeah, whatever. If I tell you I’ll think about it, will you stop harassing me?”

“I—didn’t mean to harass you. Sorry.” Louis bit his lip, considering. “Where are the others?”

“Getting food, I think. Doubt I’m keeping very good company today. Not much entertaining about hospital rooms, really.”

“Okay.”

“So, like. You can leave if you want.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not leaving, am I?”

Liam exhaled sharply. “I don’t understand what you’re doing here, Lou.”

“I could have said the same thing to you when you stumbled onto my doorstep.”

He shrugged. “It felt like the right place to go.”

“And it feels right for me to stay here. So I’m not leaving.”

“You can leave. If you want.”

“I don’t really want to.”

“Then come here,” Liam said wearily, rolling his eyes as he lifted the blanket and sheet off his prone body. “You idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: musiclily
> 
> xx


End file.
